


Wait For Me, I'm Coming

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Desperation, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice, Pining, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Years after they stopped Armageddon, a vengeful Heaven takes Aziraphale's angelic essence from him and send him to hell. Crowley would do anything to rescue him, even if it means marching into hell and dragging him out himself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous





	Wait For Me, I'm Coming

Aziraphale and Crowley's post-apocalypse unholy matrimonial bliss lasted five years, four months, three days and seven hours.

It was just enough time to get used to waking up in each other's arms amongst soft sheets, to get used to breakfasts in the morning, Aziraphale eating for the two of them, while Crowley dozed in a comfy seat. It was enough time to get used to being able to touch each other after so long of being afraid to. It was enough time to get used to Crowley taking a seat in Aziraphale's lap and taking a nap while he read, tracing his fingers through Crowley's curls. It was enough time to make a life in a cottage in the countryside, living on their own side without anyone to bother them or tell them that they didn't belong together.

It was enough time for both of them to decide that this was the only way they wanted to spend their long lives; in each other's company.

It was also barely a pinprick in their timeline.

Crowley had been away for a few days. They still went about their various temptations and miracles - it was hard to break a habit, after all, and being an angel and a demon was ingrained into their very natures. They may not have had a head office to report to, but that didn't mean that Crowley didn't enjoy causing a bit of havoc every now and then, and Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to live his life without helping out a person or two.

Mostly, Crowley was in London to finish selling off his flat and to cause a bit of mischief while he was at it.

He'd come home in the Bentley, flowers resting in the passenger seat that he'd actually bought rather than miracled up, ready to come home and surprise Aziraphale. The domestic life was, to Crowley's surprise, all that he could ever possibly imagine wanting, and all that he ever needed.

And he was about to come home to find Aziraphale missing.

His first clue that something was awry was that all the lights were off in the cottage. It was evening, already dark as he drove his car into the space outside the house. Aziraphale wasn't one for sleeping, nor was he one for sitting in an empty cottage with all of the lights off. Crowley got out of the car, trying not to worry. There could be dozens of innocent reasons why Aziraphale wasn't home. Maybe he'd gone to the shops. Maybe he'd gone out to see one of their neighbours, he did so enjoy spending time with the older lady next door, who grew roses and made excellent cups of earl grey tea.

But Crowley had been wary of something happening to Aziraphale for over 6000 years, and he had never liked not knowing where Aziraphale was.

It made him itchy.

Especially with their tenuous relationship with the cosmic forces of heaven and hell, Crowley was on high alert.

He took a few steps towards the door, opening it warily. It made a creak that was horribly loud against the silence of the dark cottage.

"Aziraphale?" he said cautiously into the empty air. "Aziraphale? Are you here?"

Worry began to pool in his stomach. If you were to ask him, Crowley would have snapped that demons don't get worried - but he'd always been a particularly anxious demon. Came with the territory when you didn't believe anything from the other side, and sort of thought your side were a bunch of tossers too.

"Aziraphale, where are you?" he said into the darkness. The worry gnawing at him was less of a murmur and more of a roar, now, the don't-know-where-Aziraphale-is feeling clawing uncomfortably at his chest.

His heart sunk further, dread seeping into his bones, and worry was replaced by fury as he walked into the living room and saw the archangel Gabriel sitting in Aziraphale’s armchair.

“Gabriel,” his said with a barely contained hiss. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

Gabriel fixed him with that slimy smile of his. “Demon Crowley! How wonderful to see you again.”

“Charmed,” Crowley snarled. “Tell me where Aziraphale is or I’ll knock your head clean off your shoulders.”

“Tetchy.”

“You can’t touch him,” Crowley said. “Wherever he is, you can’t hurt him. Hellfire doesn’t work. You can’t harm him.”

“He’s not with us,” Gabriel said in disgust. “But then again, he never really was one of us, was he?”

“You have five seconds to tell me where he is, or I am summoning the biggest flume of hellfire I can possibly find and scorching you to a god damn crisp.”

“Funny you should mention being damned,” Gabriel said, and there was that twisted smile of his again.

How had Aziraphale been able to stand it, all of those years under Gabriel’s thumb? How had he managed to keep his cool?

“See, Aziraphale’s taken a little bit of a trip,” Gabriel said, popping the ‘p’. “Down below.” 

Crowley froze. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” Gabriel said, a nasty, gleeful look on his face. “Did you think we were going to let you get away with it? Did you think we were just going to let bygones be bygones after six thousand years of planning went up in smoke? You can’t just go against the Almighty and expect to get off scot-free.” 

“He didn’t do anything,” Crowley seethed, fury burning bright in him. “All he ever wanted to do was good, here on Earth amongst the humans. That’s what She put him here to do. How can you punish him for doing the job you set out for him?”

“His job was to report to heaven, not to consort with demons,” Gabriel said, straightening the lapels of his impeccably fitted suit. “Besides, don’t you think we’re doing him a favour? If he likes demons so much, he might as well become one. Good riddance, I say.”

Crowley lunged across the room with an impassioned cry, his hands launching towards Gabriel’s neck, ready to dig his fingers in and strangle his corporation until Gabriel’s essence was sent back to heaven. He snarled as Gabriel caught him by the neck, slamming him back against the wall.

Crowley had very little chance to fight back.

Demons were scrappy, for sure. He’d been in a fair few fist fights with demons that had little else to do but wrestle. Hell was boring at the best of times and excruciating at the worst; those who didn’t learn how to throw a punch would surely end up food for a hungry hellhound.

But angels were soldiers. They were bred for war.

Crowley was powerless against Gabriel’s grip, his lungs gasping for air his strong fingers dug into his neck. It looked like Crowley would be the one to have his corporation ripped from him, and that wouldn’t do. He’d have no chance of rescuing Aziraphale without a body and heaven - hell - _somewhere_ knows that hell wasn’t just going to give him another one. 

So, he stilled, raised his hands to let the angel know he wouldn’t struggle, and Gabriel dropped his grip. 

“Wise decision, demon,” Gabriel said, rubbing his hands together. “If you find Aziraphale, let him know that he’s not welcome back in heaven, would you?”

And then he disappeared with a pop. 

Crowley snarled at the empty space where he had been, his fingers curling into fists.

First, he let out a scream that shook the whole cottage. His lungs strained for air as he howled a deep guttural roar of anger that nearly shattered Aziraphale’s glass case of carefully collected antiques.

When his throat was sore and his voice was hoarse, he slammed his hands into the wall and sent a sizeable chunk of stone flying. 

Then, he started to make a plan.

“Hold on, Aziraphale,” Crowley said to the empty air. “I’m coming.”

Crowley hadn't spent six thousand years protecting and pining after Aziraphale just to lose him now. Heaven and hell were about to learn just how much of a mistake they had just made.

* * *

Down below, the darkness was complete. 

A former angel’s hand rose from a bubbling pool of sulphur and brimstone that burned the inside of his nose and scalded his skin. He took a breath and opened his mouth to scream, which was a mistake. His mouth and lungs filled with the sludge around him, encasing his fragile body, already bruised beyond repair. His back screamed out in pain, burns aflame across his spine. In a panic, he tried to extend his wings, but found that there was nothing to extend. They’d gone.

He scrabbled around, trying to tread sulphur and swim his way out of the pool, but his arms wouldn’t work for him. They flailed at his sides. The liquid stung his eyes. He let out another scream, but it was muffled yet again by the stench lining his lungs.

He kept swinging his arms about, desperately trying to find anything that he could grab. His fingers scraped against rock, and with all his might, he reached out to dig his fingers into something, _anything,_ and held on tight. His feet found purchase in the rock face.

Slowly, he began to pull himself out of the sulphur stench where he’d been left to rot.

His head breached the surface, and he was finally able to breathe, even amongst the thick smoke. He spluttered several times, coughing up that black sludge from his throat, and took another breath, pulling himself up onto the rock. His usually strong and sure arms felt like jelly, the strength sapped out of them, but still he pulled himself up, lying across the top of the rock face, hard and digging into his skin. He was wheezing by the end of it, his limbs quivering. The jacket he’d kept so carefully for years was in tatters, utterly ruined. The rock beneath him seared his skin, which had now become a sweaty and patchy red. 

Aziraphale, former angel of the Eastern Gate, looked up from the deepest pit of hell at the pinprick of light, just enough to remind him of what he’d lost, and felt the last shred of Heaven’s love leave him.

His dirty hands quivered as he held fast onto the rock to keep himself from slipping back down, he choked out a sob, calling out a name.

“ _Crowley.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [bee-elzebub](https://bee-ezlebub.tumblr.com/) and on twitter at [@untakenbeepun](https://twitter.com/untakenbeepun)


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